Midnight in Venice

by Meadow Taylor

  And no wonder he’d never solved the mystery of her disappearance. He’d been wrong about everything from the start.

  He had to go to New Jersey and bring her home after what she’d done for him. He was just going to have to forget he was in love with Olivia and somehow fall back in love with his wife.

  But how was he going to get there? He couldn’t take his own plane because of the fog, and both the Venice and Treviso airports were closed for the same reason. His only option was to drive to Milan and take the next flight to New York.

  Chapter 37

  The fog lifted at Verona, and Alessandro was halfway to Milan when Columbo called. “I just heard from Eduard Alberti, Vanessa’s husband. He said he wants to talk to you immediately. He has more to tell you.”

  “Yes, I assumed that when I spoke to him the first time. Look, it’s taken me a couple of hours to get this far, and I’ve got to make one of those evening flights to New York or I’ll have to wait until morning. Can’t you go talk to him?”

  “We’re all stuck in Venice. There was an accident on the causeway—a hundred or so cars all piled up. Two deaths, several injuries. They’re taking the wounded in by ambulance boat. It’s a mess. With this fog, the causeway isn’t going to be cleared until at least tomorrow. You’re the only one who can get there. Don’t worry. You’ll make one of those flights—you’ve waited this long to see Katarina. A few more hours won’t make a difference.”

  Alessandro checked the rearview mirror and, seeing that he was alone on the highway, he stepped on the gas, and did two donuts in the center of the road. It was a completely unnecessary maneuver, but leaving behind black skid marks seemed like the only way to vent his frustration.

  Now facing in the other direction, he put his foot down on the accelerator. The Rossi engine roared as the needle on his speedometer climbed to 200 kilometers per hour.

  “I sure hope you’re not going as fast as I think you are right now,” Columbo said.

  Alessandro eased up on the gas. “Not anymore.”

  “Good. I don’t need to lose you in a fiery car crash tonight.”

  “Remember, I’m a professional,” Alessandro replied, and realized he sounded like a defiant teenager. “Sorry. I’m a little on edge.”

  “Well, be careful.”

  “Who’s with Olivia?”

  “I was getting to that. Renzo was caught on the causeway, and Orlando’s still with her. She’s safe. But I need to know when you last saw Pamela.”

  “Pamela? This morning, when we left the villa. Haven’t you seen her?”

  “No, and she isn’t answering her phone either. I realize it was supposed to be her afternoon off, but I told her with the fog and everything else she just might have to change her plans. Maybe she’s stuck on the causeway too.”

  “That’s not like her to ignore her cell.”

  “It never used to be. But you have to admit she’s been acting pretty strange lately.”

  “Like I said before, she’s tired.”

  “And you believe her?”

  “Why not?” Seeing flashing lights ahead, he slowed down. An ambulance, three police cars, a Mercedes, its front crunched into the windshield, and one transport truck, seemingly unharmed. A stretcher was being loaded into the ambulance. Just another day on an Italian highway.

  Columbo spoke carefully. “Word around the office is that you’re seeing Olivia—you do know they figured that one out on their own—and that Pamela is jealous. According to your colleagues, she ran from the room crying that there was no way it was going to end happily ever after.”

  “Pamela? Jealous?”

  “Yes, apparently she’s in love with you.”

  “That’s absurd. She’s been my partner for over two years now, and we’ve been nothing but—” He suddenly remembered Pamela holding him that morning. We’re more than partners, you know that.

  “But what?” Columbo said.

  “Look, she’s shown no signs of jealousy in the past, has she?”

  “That’s because she’s had you all to herself. I don’t know why you find it so surprising. What woman doesn’t fall in love with you? She must’ve convinced herself that once you got over Katarina, you’d turn to her. You have to admit she’s shown a lot of personal concern—”

  “But she’s married!”

  “And when did that ever stop anyone from falling in love with someone else?”

  “Come on. That’s pretty cynical,” Alessandro said, though he knew how much crime involved infidelity and jealously. “Wait! Why are we even talking about this now? What the hell does it have to do with Eduard Alberti?”

  “You’re going to have to hear me out on this, but I’m afraid there’s a connection. I admit it might seem a little crazy at first.”

  Alessandro said nothing. He was still digesting the idea that Pamela was in love with him.

  “I went to watch the video this morning,” Columbo continued. “The one from Pamela’s interview with Dino.”

  “And?” He was starting to get a sick feeling.

  Columbo took his time answering, and when he did his first few sentences were drowned out in static. Alessandro caught only the word blank.

  “Start again,” he said, his sense of dread growing.

  “The video was blank.” Columbo paused. “She never turned the camera on.”

  “That isn’t unheard of,” Alessandro said, immediately jumping to his partner’s defense.

  “Not on TV. But in real police work, it’s very irregular and suspicious.”

  Alessandro silently concurred, waiting for Columbo to continue.

  “Pamela was alone with Dino. Without the video, there’s no way to verify what was said. We have only Pamela’s word.”

  “And you don’t believe her?” he asked. “Dino told me pretty much the same thing.”

  “He told you what he and Pamela worked out to tell you. Didn’t you say yourself it sounded like he was giving a movie synopsis?”

  “That’s quite a leap. For all we know, she just forgot to turn it on.”

  “I know. But there’s more.”

  “What?”

  “The Carabinieri emailed me some photos. Seems they’ve been watching Dino for the last several months. They suspect him of being involved in terrorism. Remember that bomb threat at the airport just before Christmas?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “Well, there was a plan to plant a bomb in the Arrivals area, but they couldn’t get it into the terminal because you’d blocked it off to save us all from chattering teeth.”

  “It might have been nice for the Carabinieri to share that with us earlier. But what does this have to do with Pamela?”

  “They were trying to identify a woman who started showing up with Dino in November. And when they did identify her, they came straight to me. It’s Pamela, Alessandro. Mostly she’s in the boat with him—”

  “Why not? Dino drives a water taxi,” Alessandro protested. “I’m sure he’s seen with dozens of people every day.”

  “Dino has been driving exclusively for Silvio Milan and his firm for almost four years. And even if he wasn’t, Pamela can’t afford to take water taxis on a cop’s salary.”

  “You’re right. I’m just finding this hard to believe. Tell me what’s in the photos.”

  “Several show her on different occasions talking with Dino in the front of his boat. In others she’s sitting by herself in the cabin. There’s one of her going into Silvio Milan’s at night by way of the garden, and another with her talking to Milan on his balcony. Most interesting, on the night you lost Olivia at the airport, she was seen going into Milan’s and when she came out with him, he was dressed as a sultan and she was dressed in a plague-doctor costume. They went to your cousin Beatrix’s party together.”

  “That’s where I found Olivia. T
hey must have been planning something. So Milan’s involved too?”

  “The Carabinieri are certainly beginning to wonder. We think Pamela’s been working for them since at least November, alerting them to any police suspicions, but when you started seeing Olivia, she let her personal feelings get in the way. I think she wanted Olivia arrested with those drugs, even though it put their whole operation at risk.”

  “You know, she was already at the airport when I got there. This is crazy.”

  “I know. I warned you.”

  “Can you check in with Orlando and make sure Olivia is safe?” Alessandro said, willing his voice to be steady. “Damn it. It’s going to take me forever to get to Alberti’s in this fog.”

  “Call me right after you talk to Alberti. And for God’s sake, if you hear from Pamela, let me know.”

  Chapter 38

  At a quarter to six, Orlando, who’d been playing Happy Spiders all afternoon, insisted they go back to the apartment and wait for Renzo.

  They walked back through the thickening fog. She paused at the top of the Accademia Bridge, the view reduced to hazy pinpoints of light in the fog. In the glow of her cellphone, she looked at one of the padlocks attached to the railing. It was professionally engraved with a heart encircling the names Morgan and Phillip. What happened when Morgan and Phillip were no longer in love? She imagined one of them returning and sawing off the lock.

  Olivia and Orlando were descending the bridge’s steps when Orlando’s phone rang. “Pronto,” he said. There was a brief pause. “No problemo, ciao.” He dropped the phone back into his pocket. “That was Columbo. There’s a hundred-car pileup on the causeway. It’ll take them all night to clear it. Renzo’s stuck in it, so you’re stuck with me. The airport’s closed too. Not even a vaporetto running. There’s no way into the city and no way out. We’re entirely cut off from the rest of the world.”

  While he made it sound dramatic, he didn’t sound terribly displeased, and it hardly mattered to Olivia one way or another.

  “You have anything to eat at your apartment?” he asked. “I know it’s early, but I’m starving.”

  She shook her head. “I was supposed to be in New York, remember? There might be a jar of spaghetti sauce and some pasta.”

  “Yuck. No self-respecting Italian eats spaghetti sauce from a jar. Mind if we stop off for some dinner? There’s a spot behind the Accademia that opens early.”

  It was a place Marco had once recommended to her. “Sure,” she said, although she didn’t feel the least bit hungry.

  She followed him in. They were alone in the restaurant except for a couple of tourists standing at the bar poring over a map.

  Orlando encouraged her to eat, and she consented to a fruit salad, the only thing on the menu she thought she could choke down.

  “You want to watch a movie tonight?” Orlando asked. “I noticed you had some thrillers. How about Fargo?”

  “I’ve seen that a million times with my cousin. Maybe later. Right now, I want to go for a walk.”

  “A walk? It’s miserable out.”

  “I don’t care. And if the city is at a standstill and no one can get in or out, your job should be easy.” She knew she sounded irritable, but she didn’t care.

  “Not how I want to spend a cold, damp evening, but if you insist,” he said resignedly. “Where do you want to go?”

  She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Her phone pinged. Heart pounding, she grabbed it. But, of course, it wasn’t Alessandro. It was only Marco. What are you up to tonight? Aron and I planning on a quiet evening in our hotel room—though we’re hoping to keep up the steamy theme. ;) Hope you’re okay.

  Olivia typed: Just had dinner in the place you like behind the Accademia. Going for a walk now. Have a nice evening. It might be uncharitable of her, but Marco’s happiness only made her feel worse.

  Marco replied instantly: Can you check on my building and make sure water isn’t creeping over the doorstep? I might have to call the caretaker.

  Sure, she texted back. I’ll be there in an hour or so.

  Outside, the fog was deeper, if such a thing were possible. With Orlando a couple of steps behind her, they walked toward the Salute. She wrapped her scarf around her neck one more turn and pulled her hat down over her ears. The narrow streets were dark and empty, the fog muffling their footsteps.

  A few minutes later, they crossed the bridge into the campo of the Salute. A few people, not yet realizing the vaporetti had stopped running, stood waiting in the shelter, but other than that it was deserted.

  She climbed the steps of the church and gazed across the canal, wondering if the faint golden glow coming from the other side was from the chandelier hanging in Silvio Milan’s piano nobile. She remembered standing on Silvio’s balcony on her first day in Venice and looking over to where she was standing now, convinced she was the luckiest woman alive.

  Another little circle of light appeared a few palazzos down. Beatrix’s? It had only been two nights since Beatrix’s party, but it seemed like a million years ago.

  She turned toward the church doors and almost stumbled over the blind woman, Maria, kneeling in the shadows, head bent over her empty basket.

  “Buonasera, Signorina Olivia,” Maria said. It always amazed Olivia that Maria recognized her from her step.

  “Buonasera, Maria. You should go home. It’s miserable out.”

  “A night for ghosts and evil,” Maria whispered earnestly.

  While Olivia wasn’t superstitious, she couldn’t help but shudder at the words. If ever there were a night to believe in spirits, this was it.

  “Isn’t the church usually closed by now?” Olivia asked.

  “Special mass tonight at twenty hundred hours. So I keep watch. Undercover stakeout,” she whispered conspiratorially.

  Olivia opened her purse to give her customary two-euro coin, but other than a couple of pennies, her wallet held only fifty-euro bills. What the hell, she thought and put one in the basket. Maria felt its size, her blind eyes opening wider. She stammered an objection, but Olivia insisted she take it.

  Maria relented and, after thanking her, tucked it beneath her coat in the bosom of her dress.

  “You’re crazy,” Orlando said as they went inside. “Fifty euros?”

  “Someone might as well be happy tonight,” she said blandly.

  Orlando stood at the door as she wandered around the circular perimeter. Except for the saints who watched from darkened altar paintings, the church was empty. It was silent too, the only sound the echo of her own footsteps on the marble floor. Below the central dome, candles glowed in their red-glass holders, little dots of warmth in the shadowy interior.

  She paused in front of the organ where she and Alessandro had listened to the vespers. For Prayers Only, a sign stated. She was tempted, but then, somewhat ashamed by her prayer’s selfish nature, she went back outside.

  “I don’t think anyone’s going to come for mass tonight,” she said to Maria.

  “I keep watch on church then,” Maria said. “Night for ghosts and evil. Make sure no bad guys steal paintings.”

  Olivia smiled in spite of herself. Maria sure took her “job” seriously. “Okay, but go home as soon as you can. You don’t want to catch a cold in this damp.”

  Maria agreed, and Olivia and Orlando continued along the canal past the Customs House. Across the Grand Canal, the lights in San Marco were barely visible. She rounded the Customs House and followed the Giudecca Canal. With the water’s edge obscured by the deep fog, she hugged the building as she walked. Looking back, she saw her body had made a dark tunnel in the fog, like the tunnels she’d made through snowbanks as a child. Indeed, this fog was like being lost in a blizzard. Orlando was nowhere to be seen, and she panicked, worried he’d stepped off into the dark waters of the lagoon.

  Then suddenly he was
beside her, having burrowed his own tunnel.

  Feeling spooked now, she turned down the fondamenta opposite the gondola yard and into the bar Al Bottegon. She ordered two red wines and handed one wordlessly to Orlando.

  Despite having just eaten, Orlando ordered himself a plate of cicchetti, the appetizers the bar was famous for, and ate them as he watched the street through the bar’s mullioned window. They must have looked like a strange couple, ignoring each other within the small confines of the bar.

  She stood with her back against the shelves of wine and listened to an old Venetian man recount a tale of another foggy night. Listening to his story were two other Venetians, only slightly younger, sipping spritzes, still firmly wrapped in their wool coats despite the warmth of the bar. The bar was owned by three generations of a family, and mother and son listened from behind the bar.

  “A gondolier was on his way back to the gondola yard when he saw a woman in the Campo San Vio. She waved him down, and he drew up alongside her. She wore a long fur coat with a hood. Between the fog, the darkness, and the hood, he couldn’t make out her face. He asked her where she was going on such a terrible night, but she didn’t answer, pointing instead down the Rio de San Vio toward the Giudecca Canal.”

  Olivia, catching the name of the canal she lived on, listened more closely.

  “When he emerged onto the Giudecca Canal, he turned to follow the fondamenta toward the gondola yard just up here,” he said, nodding in the direction of the yard Olivia had passed on her way to the bar, “but she shook her outstretched arm toward the Giudecca, and the gondolier, assuming she wanted to go over to the island, turned into the fog. He couldn’t see a thing, but he was an experienced gondolier and confident he could get his passenger safely to the other side.

  “It went smoothly at first, but when he’d reached the center of the canal, he heard a foghorn. Alarmed, he looked up and saw an enormous ship looming over them. His heart nearly stopped. He was sure he was about to be run through by the ship’s hull. But then a rope ladder fell from the ship into the gondola, and his passenger dropped her hood. Finally, he thought, I will see her face! Imagine his shock when instead of a face, he saw the ragged, bloody stump of her neck—her head was completely gone!